Forgotten Words
by peachiee
Summary: He stands silently on rainy, humid nights with Sasuke's headband tied between his fingers : Naruto wishes there was someone, a certain someone, with him on those lonely nights.
1. Forgotten Words

**Title:** Forgotten Words

**Genre:** Romance!Angst

**Pairing:** Sasuke/Naruto (duh)

**Rating**: PG

**Summary:** Sasuke knew Naruto was determined - the pile of letters on his desk said that. It was a mystery when they stopped coming.

* * *

They sat there everyday at the corner of his dusty mahogany desk, taunting him. Mocking him. Teasing him. The clumsy and rushed handwriting that slanted to the left, and the various ink blotches that littered the crinkling pages were becoming a nuisance, considering that the letters would be impossible to read, if Sasuke took the time to even pick them up and skim the contents. The edges were curled up anxiously, the ends with small little swirls and sketches of whatever the writer had engrossed himself with - sometimes the Konoha tree leaf symbol, or another lazily drawn subject.

They smelled like ramen - even the envelopes did - and usually, the younger Uchiha could see where his friend had accidentally spilled a cup of his favorite food over the paper, and rushed to clean it up, with disasterous results. Each time they arrived differently: a fellow ninja in the area would cautiously walk up and hand it to him, or other times he was surprised to find that some type of agile bird had been assigned the delivering. Either way, they always came, always found him, and they always held the same plea - Sasuke knew, even if he didn't look at them. Instead, he would rip the letters open and without a second glance, discard them on the nearby table by the closed window. So, they sat there, collecting dust, and becoming old and yellow with age.

There were twenty-seven of them - Sasuke was sure of this, as he silently ticked off the number of letters that he recieved monthly or weekly. The young ninja estimated the weight of the letter, the amount of ink spilled over the parchment, and the way the penmanship declined or improved. He always took careful notice, sinking in the details, lingering over the pile of forgotten words on humid rainy nights, and thinking of alternatives he knew were impossible.

One day, the letters stopped coming. All together, there seemed to be a strange stillness everywhere Sasuke walked, and he couldn't bite back the feeling that something was wrong. The writer of the notes was a stubborn bastard, and there was no way he would simply give up. Despite the aching feeling his heart carried around in its hollow vessel, he did not succumb to the few words that he _knew_ were always written within those letters. Even without looking. Two simple words.

_"Come home."_

Naruto Uzumaki was such a idiotic, moronic, and determined bastard that Sasuke did not believe Orochimaru when he reported the blonde was dead. The letters had stopped coming. Even with his vain efforts to ignore the facts, the Uchiha had known something had happen. That same day of the news, he gathered the papers carefully in his arms like a bundle of fragile roses. He set them down on the ground, and silently conjured a small orb of fire, tossing it towards the pile. Through the night, Sasuke watched them burn, curl at the edges and then settle into dust at his feet. He watched the fire with its exotic mocking dance, and its tempting colors. The smoke made its way to the sky with a chilling finality before it vanished with the wind, and the ashes of the paper blew away in the breeze.

* * *

First attempt at Naruto. I might turn this into a collection of drabbles - who knows. Ne.


	2. Memories of Dust

**Title:** Memories of Dust

**Genre: **Angst!Romance

**Pairing: **Naru/Sasu

**Rating:** G

* * *

He stands silently on rainy, humid nights with Sasuke's headband tied between his fingers. There, at the window, he'll lean against it as he watches the rain run down the glass and develop into puddles on the ground. The gathering dark clouds in the distance remind him of Sasuke's hair, eyes, and deep rumbling voice. A voice that seems ominous and intimidating - yet he knew, _Naruto_ knew - that the young ninja could talk with a gentle welcoming.

He runs his fingers down the foggy windowpane, creating small pictures that remind him of their times together - a sunflower, a Sharingan eye, a contract scroll - and then he'll sigh and run his hand across them as he destroys the memories. The memories that are like unsettling dust that will tease his senses as they scatter before his hazy eyes.

He remembers the rare smiles of his teammate, and the sweat that would cling to his body and give off an attractive scent. The cloth of the forehead protector twirls around his fingers in nervous knots that seem to bite at his fingers. The cold metal of the plate with the Konoha leaf symbol will press against his cheeks as he brings it close to his mouth and gently breaths in the old, musty aroma.

The rain in the distance will continue as he stands there, at the window, remembering. There are no witnesses to his mournful ritual that he carries out with a heavy heart, and he prefers it that way. Though sometimes, the absence of someone - the absence of _Sasuke_, will curve his usual grin into a lonely frown.

Yet the next day, he will replace it, and leave no traces of his once dreadful and morbid state. He hides the headband under his pillow, and he dreams of Sasuke and their training together at night, until he wakes up in the morning, the daylight peeking through his window. He wakes up to the smell of fresh rain from the other day, and the taste of the old storm clouds, and the memory of Sasuke drifting away with reality.

* * *

As requested, here's one from Naruto's point of view. More angst.


End file.
